Pillow Fight
by MarblePeace
Summary: Holmes and Watson have a pillow fight. Interesting, right? 2009 Movie Vers.


**A/N: **LOL. This was a challenge between me and a friend of mine. The idea of Holmes and Watson having a pillow fight was just too adorable, so we had to write it. Hope you enjoy! and no, this isn't really slash.

**H x W - Pillow Fight**

Watson sits on the tiger-skin rug before the active furnace, book in hand, the fire's warm glow giving out a silky scarlet tone across any object in its trajectory; including the currently peaceful doctor. His eyes move steadily across each page, giving each word into focused thought. He only turned two more pages before Holmes swings the sitting-room door open with a rough thrust, resulting in a loud bang as it hit the wall. The obviously drunk detective staggers a few steps forward before finally having to start grabbing onto objects for guidance. Watson lifts his eyes to watch his friend. The sight before him was all too familiar, and so was the fact that his peaceful reading time was now over. He sighs heavily and reluctantly drags himself to his feet and tries to flee the room before he gets dragged into any of Holmes's shenanigans.

His attempt proves to be in vain as his path is blocked by the other man, and he releases a slow agitated groan. "Get out of the way, Holmes. I wish to go to bed now…"

Holmes looks up at the doctor with thickly glazed and slow moving eyes, his mouth curving slightly into something of a sly smirk. "Well, then… Go? I do not care if you want to sleep."

Watson stares down at Holmes for a moment. The man looked rough. His dark brown hair was strewn haphazardly across his forehead and eyes, some strands standing straight upwards, which slightly amused Watson. As he studied Holmes, he noticed that he still had that smirk on his face… Holmes was up to something; but Watson attempted a second flee anyway.

Second attempt failed as well.

Holmes slid across the floor, blocking Watson's path; though his own quick movement nearly threw him off his feet. The two men locked eyes for a moment, Watson's firm and determined; Holmes's still glazed and delayed. Watson slides back to the left as quick as he can, but is blocked once more. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. "Holmes, please…"

"I said you could go. Why aren't you leaving yet?" he lets out a small laugh, which gets cut off abruptly as he slides back over to the right as Watson attempted to run again.

Watson's patience is wearing thin now. He grabs hold of Holmes's shoulders and gives him a slight shake. "Snap out of it, and let me through. Now," he threats, his tone firm.

Holmes seems to almost squeak underneath his grasp and he wriggles himself free of the doctor's hold, quickly grabbing a pillow resting on the settee beside them. "I said you could leave, you fool!" he slurrs, and forcefully strikes Watson on the side with the pillow. The doctor stumbles and nearly slips off of his feet, throwing a shocked face at Holmes. Regaining his balance, he stares at the man, confused as to what he should do next. He definitely could not let Holmes get away with that. His dignified nature would not allow it! So thinking quickly, he grabs the remaining pillow on the settee and hammers it against the detective's shoulder, rewarding him with a loud shriek from Holmes; who was now on the floor. Seeing that Holmes is now weakened, Watson attempts, once again, to evade. Fate is against him this particular night.

He gasps as his trousers are grabbed and pulled at the ankle, too quick for instinct to even take notice. Watson fails to put out his hands to refrain his plummet, and he lands roughly on the floorboards. Holmes emit's a short and triumphant 'Ha!' as he captures his victim and throws his pillow down with great speed onto Watson's back. He then quickly gathers the two pillows which had been used, and runs to the other side of the room before Watson could do anything too harsh.

Watson slowly recollects himself; that fall was pretty significant. Now back on his feet, he places a hand on the small of his back and feels it. That last pillow strike stung. There was _no_ way Watson was going to let this go now; Holmes has crossed that border. He looks around the room and locates Holmes in the far right corner of the room, watching Watson carefully, cradling the two small pillows in his arms.

To Holmes's surprise, Watson doesn't start dashing towards him (like he expected and was prepared for); but leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He blinks and his mouth partially drops, thoroughly confused. Why didn't Watson bound after him? He was quite positive that Watson's highly proud nature wouldn't allow a victory loss, but maybe-

His thoughts are interrupted as the door is swung open again, holding Watson in the doorframe, with four pillows in his arms.

- …he got pillows from his own room. Holmes, now a bit more sober, looks at the determined man. Watson was looking back at him with a strange tone laid about his eyes; they seemed to have a somewhat hungry look to them. To avoid the possibility of becoming trapped, Holmes inches cautiously out of the corner and in the direction of the fireplace, his eyes never leaving Watson's form. It was now a matter of who would make the first move. Holmes surveyed his current position. Currently, he only had two pillows ranging around the border of medium in size. Watson, on the other hand, had four pillows, which were definitely much larger than his own two; they could do much more damage. Wait… Wasn't this a bit too childish? Two grown, fully mature men having a war with pillows? Unheard of. How did it even get to this point-

Holmes is interrupted again as Watson launches a piece of his ammo at him; which Holmes barely eludes, sparking a sense of temporary triumph. Thinking quickly, he takes Watson's failed weapon off the floor and adds it to his own collection, saving his newly acquired piece, but flinging one of the smaller ones at his opponent. Apparently Watson was expecting this (he seemed too involved in this game - war - now), and glides to the left. Impressive. Almost as if he were in mid-air, Holmes notes- wait. Maybe this is his problem? He is thinking too much... Take action!

Holmes takes to the left, maneuvering around the settee and side-tables; Watson, upon watching this, rotates to keep eye on his opponent. At the instant Holmes reaches only a few feet distance from him, he extends and swings an arm 'round to strike, and succeeds, knocking Holmes right on his side.

Upon impact, Holmes plants his feet into the hardwood and merely rocks a bit side-to-side. Was that a flash of disappointment upon Watson's face he saw? An amused smirk dances across his face as he - choosing the larger pillow - hammers the doctor square on his head, earning him a muffled sound of exclamation.

This called official war.

Over the next half hour or so, things play out in this fashion. It seems to be a battle with no end; there is no score. Each man only wants to have revenge on the other whenever they endure a hit. It consists of pillows being swung, pulled, thrust forward (with quite some severity), and thrown. The sitting-room is now trashed (even more so than usual anyway) with wall hangings crooked, one unfortunate piece fallen to the floor; objects upon the few side-tables were now knocked over or on the floor; and they even had a short episode where a pillow was thrown into the open furnace and caught flame. That incident distracted them only for a few moments to prevent the fire from advancing.

Both is too busy to notice that Gladstone has now entered the room. The dog takes a few paw-steps forward then halts, resting on his wide haunches, to survey this strange program taking place before him. He was used to his master Watson using these white, fluffy things to rest his head on, but... He was throwing them now, why? He seemed to only be throwing them at his other much more unfriendly master, Holmes. Confused, he stays to watch.

"Ha! You're defenseless!" Watson shouts to Holmes, who is standing by the door (where Gladstone is also set; but he doesn't even notice him. Both of them do not). Holmes is indeed in lack of any weapons, and so - he decides - to get more, he much stay put and catch whatever Watson chooses to throw at him. He prepares to just that, and then it happens. Watson releases a large pillow at rocket speed toward Holmes, but he does so with such force he accidentally throws it a bit off-aim, and it soars to Holmes's feet.

But it doesn't hit Holmes's feet. Watson watches in horror as he instantly spots Gladstone sitting there, right in the pillow's path, frozen. Upon impact, Gladstone yelps loudly and he is knocked backwards by the fluffy rocket.

"Gladstone!" Watson exclaims as he rushes to his dog, guilt stabbing his very gut. He picks up his pillow to find Gladstone under it flat on his stomach, looking quite dazed. The doctor begins to pet him repeatedly, massaging the dog's head, then he looks up at Holmes.

"Call the war off, Holmes. This is has been enough. We could have really hurt Gladstone..."

Holmes merely shrugs. "Okay."

Watson scoops up the bulldog and holds him close. "Ooh... I'm so tired."

Holmes shoots a look at Watson and replies flatly, "Then go to bed."


End file.
